


In Shining Armor

by GalahadThePure



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Eventual Smut, Found Family, M/M, Role Swap AU, Will add additional characters and tags with updates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-16 03:14:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28699731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GalahadThePure/pseuds/GalahadThePure
Summary: "Oh right, Thancred the bookworm and Urianger your knight in shining armor..."
Relationships: Urianger Augurelt/Thancred Waters
Comments: 17
Kudos: 48





	1. Freed Canary

A cold breeze ran through the damp gaol, chilling the sole inhabitant to the bone. The jangling of chains, the occasional footsteps of a passing guard, the squeaking of rats who shared the cell with her, rummaging for the scraps of whatever meol she was served; these were all the girl heard. Otherwise, there was naught but silence. She wrapped her shawl tight around her shoulders, the thin fabric tattered and stained, but it was all she had to keep her warm. How many nights since her awakening had her sapphire eyes wet this cloth with tears? How many days had passed since she last saw the light of day? The girl was always told that being the Oracle of Light was a blessing, a gift. To bear the name Minfilia meant shouldering the hope of the realm. But to her, it felt more like a curse.

She was just one girl.

Just one young girl who had barely seen ten summers.

One young girl who could never live a normal life, who could only ever walk the path of her predecessors.

It was hell, and she could never escape, locked away forever like a bird in a cage.

She jolted upward, gripping on tightly to the hem of her dress. Having spent so many years trapped in this gaol, she had learned how to identify who was coming just by the sound of their footsteps alone. This wasn’t the loud, heavy footsteps of Lord Vauthry, who often came to view her like a prize, no, like livestock. Nor was it the clack of the jongeleurs’ heels, coming to bring her daily meol. No, these footsteps, the ones so silent she could barely hear them coming, belonged to her greatest source of fear.

“Ran’Jit…” she choked.

Her nails dug into her palms almost hard enough to draw blood. This man, her so-called “guardian,” approached her cell, his sunken, silver eyes staring daggers at her. His face was expressionless, nigh impossible to read, a reflection of his stone cold heart.

“Girl,” the man growled.

“H-hello, Ran’Jit,” Minfilia swallowed hard.

The man didn’t respond. Minfilia stood at attention, hearing the sound of keys jangling, of the cold steel of her cell unlocking. The man stepped inside, dropping a pair of daggers at her feet. Her heart nearly stopped as the man stood poised for brawling, a dragon familiar hovering over his shoulder.

“Prepare yourself!” the man shouted, “I will not see you grow sloppy on your training!”

The girl scrambled to grab the daggers, her fingers closing around the hilts just in time to parry his blow. This was unfair. How could such a frail little girl be able to stand up to such a demon of a man? Yet the girl had learned the hard way that these sparring sessions were an inevitable part of her life, and if she wanted to avoid going to bed uninjured, she needed to try her best to defend herself.

The girl darted around her cell, trying to avoid Ran’Jit’s punishing blows. Even though his opponent was just a child, the man refused to hold back. Minfilia could hardly counter his attacks, resorting only to dodging and parrying until their “training” was over.

“Fight, Oracle!” Ran’Jit snapped.

“I don’t want to fight you!” she cried, “I’m scared! I hate this!”

“Cowardice! Ill-befitting of the Oracle of Light!”

He kicked the girl in the stomach, making her fly across the room and slam against the cold, stone walls. Minfilia could practically hear the crack of several of her ribs, snapping as easily as twigs. She doubled over in pain, tears spilling from her eyes as she hugged what would form into a terrible wound.

“It hurts…” she cried.

“Stand up, girl,” he hissed, “Stand and fight!”

“I don’t want to do this anymore! Ran’Jit, please stop this!”

The girl was met with a sharp kick to the face, blood now pouring from her nose. She whimpered in pain, curling up as the deep red stained her white dress. Ran’Jit sighed in disappointment, stepping out of the cell and locking it behind him.

“To bed, Minfilia,” he scolded, “And no supper until you can fight without crying.”

Ran’Jit headed down the hallway, leaving the poor girl alone in the cold, dark cell. As soon as she was certain he had left, Minfilia wept, her tears flooding like water from a ruptured dam. She loathed this. She didn’t care if Ran’Jit’s goal was to make her stronger. It hurt. It heaved far too much stress onto her for a ten year old to bear. Her eyes darted to the daggers scattered across the cell floor.

Many a time had she considered turning them on herself, slitting her wrists or her throat to end this suffering. But she was scared, terrified of the fate that awaited her after death. Minfilia wasn’t her own person. Should she take her own life, her burden would simply be passed onto another girl. Somewhere across the realm, another child would be born with her platinum blonde hair, her eyes that twinkled like sapphires…

And that would be the beginning of their end.

They too would have to endure this abuse, hidden behind the thinly veiled claims of love and compassion. They too would be locked away from the rest of the world, never to see their birth parents, their siblings, their dear friends, ever again. Minfilia herself couldn’t even remember her mother’s face, or recall the sound of her father’s voice. She had even forgotten her own name, her name before she became Minfilia. This was a fate she wouldn’t wish upon her worst enemy, let alone another innocent child.

Thus for that reason, did she persevere.

She crawled onto her small cot, the mattress hard as stone and sheets so thin and damp, they almost made her feel colder. It could be midday or the middle of the night for all she knew, but she was tired, and her body ached with freshly forming wounds. Perhaps some sleep would ease her pain. She closed her eyes tight, hoping, praying that sleep would take her.

***

Minfilia awoke to the sound of steel clashing against steel, to the cry of soldiers falling one by one. Could this be a raid on Eulmore? From what she had heard through the passing chatter of guards, Eulmore was hardly beloved by any other city-state across Norvrandt. Yet their military prowess prevented any uprisings, knowing the rebellion would be crushed like an ant beneath a steel-toed boot. Was some poor fool finally deciding to stand up to this nation’s tyranny?

She rushed to the steel bars of her cell, trying to get a better look, or at the very least be in earshot of the action. Minfilia was never wont to fight, but she feared for the fate of these dissenters. She had seen horrible, unspeakable things happen to any and all would be resistance. The screams of those that Ran’Jit had tortured still rang in her ears, and she could only imagine the atrocities the soldiers of Eulmore would commit against their families. For her own sanity, she had to hope for the best, yet after all these years, she had come to expect the worst.

The sound of fighting grew closer to her cell, and though it strained her eyes, she could barely make out a silhouette. She recognized the familiar forms of the Eulmoran guards, their helms casting a distinct shadow. Based on the sounds she heard, Minfilia was expecting at least a light party’s worth of resistance, yet amidst the silhouettes, she could only make out one unfamiliar one. The shadow stood taller than the others, and brandished a broadsword and shield against the guards. From outline alone, the sole resister appeared to be an Elven man, clad in heavy plated armor. Even as he fought against the powerful forces of Eulmore, he seemed to fend them off, cutting down guard after guard.

But why was he coming down to the gaols of Eulmore?

If he was an assassin, wouldn’t he be heading skyward, towards Vauthry’s canopy to end his tyranny once and for all? Maybe he was an infiltrator, come to free some jailed comrades to before they could be tortured and slain. As his shadow came closer, she began to make out more of his features. The man was indeed an Elf, and easily twice her height if not more. He was clad from head to toe in shining, silver armor, royal blue coattails emerging from underneath. His silver hair hung slightly past his shoulders, tied back into a low ponytail for good measure, and a well-trimmed beard sprouted from his cheeks.

He walked past each cell, quickly glancing into each one before moving onto the next. So he was here to find a prisoner and free them. Minfilia wanted to call out to him, to beg him to let her free, but doing so could jeopardize his infiltration efforts, landing him in one of these very cells. Yet to her surprise, the man stopped in front of her cell, his golden eyes locking with her sapphire ones.

“At last,” he smiled, “I have found thee.”

He pulled out a set of keys, clearly filched from one of the guards, and unlocked the door to her cell. Minfilia couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. This man was here for her? He got down on his knees, looking her in the eyes as he held out a hand.

“Art thou well, Minfilia?” he asked gently.

Minfilia couldn’t muster the words to respond. She could hardly process what was going on. This man had risked life and limb to fight back against one of the strongest military forces on their star… just to rescue her. She cleared her throat, finally finding the courage to speak to this hero.

“Who…” she stammered, “Who are you?”

“I haven’t the time to explain,” he replied, “Pray, takest mine hand milady. We must make haste to escape before reinforcements arrive. Art thou capable of standing?”

Minfilia nodded her head, standing up and grabbing his hand. His palm alone was larger than her entire hand, but even under the cold metal of his gauntlets, it felt warm and comforting. No sooner had she grabbed his hand did the Elven man pull her out of the cell, running for an exit. Minfilia ran with him as fast as her legs could carry her, trying to keep up with her savior. Her breathing was ragged and pained, no doubt her shattered ribs enfeebling her. It was difficult to maintain this pace, but she had to run, for both of their sakes.

They turned down the corridors, a light cracking out of the end of the hall. Minfilia squinted as they approached it, finally finding themselves in the derelicts outside of Eulmore. The light of the never changing sky was blinding, but she had to keep running, through the slums, past the moored ships, far, far away from Eulmore. As they were about to reach the Glory Gate, their final obstacle before her freedom, a giant, lion faced Sin Eater descended from above, bearing its fangs and gnashing its claws at the Elven knight.

“Twas foolish of me to think they would let us escape so easily,” he said, drawing his weapon, “Behind me, child! I will see no harm come to thee.”

The Elf charged at the Sin Eater, parrying its blows with his shield. He overpowered the beast, the steel of his blade ringing out against the marble-like carapace of the Eater. Yet the beast refused to go down without a fight. It opened its maw, firing a beam of pure light at the Elf.

“Look out!” Minfilia shouted.

The Elf raised his shield, the light reflecting off of it to protect him from its lethal blast. He powered through, leaping at the beast and slicing into the weak flesh of its wings. The Eater let out a growl of pain as it collapsed onto the ground, slowly dissipating into aether.

“Worry not, Minfilia,” the man assured, “For I shall ‘ere be thy shield.”

He held out his hand, guiding her through the rubble-ridden pathway and past the Glory Gate. The derelicts of Gatetown were still, the poor families looking for a better life nestled away inside their homes. It was difficult to tell by the sky, but it must be the middle of the night.

“Much do I wish that we couldst walk at our leisure,” the knight sighed, “Alas we are still far from safety. Pray tell if thy legs grow too heavy to walk. I shall carry thee if tis what thou desirest.”

As they marched through the cliffs of Kholusia, Minfilia looked back to the city-state behind her. She had spent most of her life in Eulmore, but had never really seen much of it outside of the gaol. The fact that the city itself looked like the pinnacle of luxury while the slums and prisons were completely desolate was quite telling of Lord Vauthry’s reign. If she had it her way, she would never set foot in this foul city again, and hopefully this kind stranger would take her far, far away.

“Where…” she wondered, “Where are we going?”

“To mine dismay I cannot tell thee yet,” the knight admitted, “I know not whose ears may be listening to our conversation, and were I to tell thee the name of our haven, we may find ourselves followed by unsavory company. Prithee, have faith in me, milady. For I only wish to grant thee thy rightful sanctuary.”

Minfilia nodded her head in understanding. Even though she had just barely met this man, he had showed more kindness to her than Ran’Jit had in years. He could be taking her to the bottom of the ocean for all she cared. This kind stranger was taking her away from her personal hell, and anywhere could be better than that cold, damp gaol. As they approached the coastline, Minfilia could make out a group of soldiers and countless amaros in wait. She gripped onto the knight’s arm tightly, fearing that they were walking right into another Eulmoran ambush, but as they approached the convoy of troops, something seemed different. Their armor was a different color and shape from the Eulmoran soldiers, and the closer they got, the more soldiers she could see smiling and waving at them. A Viis dancer was the first to approach them, running up and bowing to the knight.

“Urianger!” she beamed, “Thank goodness you’re well!”

“Tis good to see thee too,” the knight, or rather, Urianger, replied, “Aside from a run in with a Sin Eater, everything went according to plan.”

“Are you injured?”

“Naught but a few minor cuts and bruises.”

Urianger turned to Minfilia, ensuring she was ok.

“But what of thee, child?” he asked, “Art thou injured?”

“I…” Minfilia stuttered, “I might have a few broken ribs… but it wasn’t because of you. I had them before you…”

“Then we shall see thee attended to by the finest chirugeons. Lyna, pray send a missive to the Crystarium that I have the Oracle in mine custody and she doth require medical aid upon our return.”

The Viis, Lyna, saluted him, raising her hand to her ear to make a call on her linkpearl. Now that the dust had settled, Minfilia finally got the opportunity for a good look at her savior. He looked relatively young, probably no more than 29 or 30 summers old, but still had a mature air about him. Seared into his cheek was a black tattoo, a symbol that she could not recognize, but a part of it felt familiar. Maybe it was connected to a previous Minfilia, a core memory that all of the Oracles past retained. The knight caught the girl’s gaze, smiling gently to her and patting her head.

“Thou needst not worry ‘ere longer, milady,” he cooed, “Thou art safe now.”

“You…” Minfilia asked, “Your name is Urianger, right?”

The knight kneeled down, taking her hand. It was almost as if to swear his fealty, a knight pledging undying loyalty to his mistress.

“Tis proper time I introduced mineself, milady,” he bowed, “I am called Urianger Augurelt, and I am a Scion of the Seventh Dawn.”

Scion of the Seventh Dawn. That too felt familiar. It was as if the original Minfilia inside her soul recognized him as an ally, or rather an old friend. But that couldn’t be possible. After all, the original Oracle of Light gave her life roughly a century ago. How could she have possibly known this man?

“I feel like…” she started, “Like we’ve met before. It’s quite strange… inexplicable even.”

The knight’s expression grew slightly somber. She didn’t mean to bring up a painful memory for him, but still, Urianger seemed to shrug off his melancholy, as not to give her cause to worry.

“Mayhap our Minfilia still sleeps within thee,” Urianger said.

“So you did know her… the original Minfilia,” she asked.

“Aye. For she was a trusted friend of mine.”

“But… how is that possible? Are you really over a hundred years old?”

The knight looked to the amaro launch, noticing Lyna signaling to them to come board their mounts for departure.

“I fear it is a rather long story milady,” Urianger replied, “One which I will gladly share with thee once we arrive in the Crystarium and thou hast received thy treatment.”

He held out his hand once more, coaxing Minfilia to join him, to return with him to a place he swore she would be safe. The thought of this sanctuary, this taste of freedom, it almost felt too good to be true. If fate was as cruel as she had grown accustomed to it being, she would awaken back in the cold gaol, the knight standing before here disappearing as naught but a fleeting dream. But she had to trust him. She had to have hope that this was real, that she would finally be able to walk her own path.

“Pray, take my hand, Minfilia,” he smiled, “Thy haven awaits.”

She grabbed onto his hand, a twinkle of hope in her eyes. Who knew when this opportunity would arise again? That poor canary would remain locked in her cage no longer, for now she could spread her wings and fly towards the future.


	2. A Crystalline Sanctuary

Minfilia held tightly to Urianger’s waist, careful not to fall off as their amaro flew off towards their destination. Kholusia was an island, off the coast of continental Norvrandt, so flying over open water was inevitable. Yet as nice as it felt to be free from that hellish gaol in Eulmore, Minfilia couldn’t help but be frightened. Flying over open water sparked her fear of drowning. If they were shot down midair, if their amaro’s wings gave out, the two would go plunging into the watery depths below.

But she couldn’t think about that now.

Her legs were sore and wobbly as a bavarois, her torso still throbbed with pain from her earlier injury, but at least she was safe now. The other amaros were poised as a uniform phalanx around her, each with one pilot and one ranged soldier on the back. The soldiers of the Crystarium had really planned her escape thoroughly. If Eulmore did attempt to shoot them down, Minfilia had a veritable wall of cavalry to protect her. And the archers, machinists, and mages guarding her escort could easily snipe any would be attackers.

“Thou hast hardly said a word since our departure,” Urianger commented, his eyes still focused on the seemingly endless horizon before them, “Art thou well, milady?”

“I’ve never flown on an amaro before…” Minfilia squeaked.

“Art thou frightened?”

“It is a bit scary…”

“Be not afraid, child. Fear is natural, and I blame thee not for thy fear of heights. A person without fear is naught more than a hollow shell, and while facing them is venerable, tis mine duty to ensure that thou hast no need to be afraid.”

Minfilia grabbed on tighter to his armored waist. She could feel him trembling a bit. Was it from adrenaline from his successful rescue, or perhaps he was scared too.

“Urianger…” Minfilia asked.

“Yes, milady?” he replied.

“Are you scared of anything?”

Urianger hesitated, but Minfilia could see his pointed ears droop slightly.

“I’m sorry,” Minfilia said, “I didn’t mean to pry…”

“Nay, I understand,” Urianger replied, “Twould be rude of me to chastise thee for expressing curiosity. For thou art still a child.”

“So… is there anything?”

“Strangely enough, the ocean is one… Loathe to admit I am a poor swimmer.”

Minfilia swallowed hard. Now she really hoped that no one was following them to shoot them down.

“Thou wouldst be surprised that mine fears end not there,” Urianger added, “But for thy sake I shall conquer them.”

“Urianger!” Lyna shouted towards him, “We will land in Lakeland shortly.”

“Understood,” Urianger replied, “Our haven approacheth.”

The amaros began their descent, Minfilia looking out from behind Urianger towards the ground below. She could make out a bleached land, the trees a faint lavender color against the parched earth. As they grew closer to the ground, Minfilia could barely make out another group of soldiers, clad in the same Crystarium armor as Lyna. A carriage pulled by two amaros waited at the launch, the camel birds ruffling their feathers in wait. Minfilia and Urianger’s amaro landed at the docks below, a Galdjent Crystarium guard coming to meet them. He bowed, greeting the Oracle as if he was meeting a goddess.

“Welcome to Lakeland, Lady Oracle,” he smiled, “Your amaro carriage awaits.”

Minfilia was pleased that the soldiers of the Crystarium were treating her with so much respect, but it came as somewhat of a shock too. She was used to being lauded for being the “Oracle” in Eulmore, but whenever she was addressed as such, she felt more like a possession, a prize signifying Eulmore as a Norvrandt superpower. But those of the Crystarium saw her as a person rather than a thing, a young girl rather than a vessel. It was comforting, validating.

“Th-thank you,” she smirked.

The Galdjent man extended his hand, helping her up into the back seat of the carriage. The interior was painted a crystalline blue, its plush seats lined with red velvet cushions. It was lavish, but it wasn’t ostentatious. As she sat down, she noticed there was room enough for one extra person. She looked out the window, waving to her Urianger to get his attention.

“Urianger,” she yelled, “Do you want to ride in the carriage with me?”

“I would love to milady,” Urianger replied, “But I’m afraid I must decline. Twould behoove me to guard the carriage for thy escort.”

“You’ve worked plenty hard already, Urianger,” Lyna said, “Get in the carriage. The Crystarium Guard is perfectly capable of a simple escort.”

“Art thou certain?” he asked.

“Of course,” Lyna assured, “No doubt you’re exhausted from earlier too.”

Urianger looked inside the carriage, the comfortable looking interior a tempting balm for his aching muscles. Even with his vigorous training, he still wasn’t completely used to fighting with steel instead of magic.

“Well, if thou dost insist…” he conceded.

He climbed into the carriage, closing the door behind him as the jockey cracked the reins. The carriage rolled forward, the Crystarium soldiers marching alongside to guard the precious guest within. Minfilia stared out the window, watching as the carriage rolled past trees, brush, lakes and rivers saturated with salt. It was dismally bleached by the calamity of light, but oddly beautiful. In the distance, she spotted a tall spire, it’s pristine, light blue exterior twinkling under the perpetual daylight like a crystal.

“Is that the Crystarium?” she asked.

“Aye,” Urianger replied, “We shouldst arrive within the hour. How fare thy wounds?”

“It still hurts… but I’ll manage.”

Urianger pulled off one of his armored gloves, his hand beginning to glow with a faint light. He hovered it over her ribcage, healing aether slightly numbing the wound until the pain was tolerable.

“How art thou now?” he asked.

“It doesn’t hurt as badly. Thank you.”

“It pleases me so to see thee not grimacing in pain ere longer.”

“You know healing magic?”

“Twas mine old discipline, though I fear the potency of mine healing may not be as strong as it used to be...”

“No it’s fine. Thank you for helping with the pain. I feel much better now.”

The rural landscape slowly faded into an urban one as the carriage and its escorts passed through the Exarch Gate. Minfilia’s jaw dropped at the sight of the city. The city was a marvel of crystal, glass, and wrought iron, its detailed architecture showcasing its affluence without the excessive gaudiness she had seen in Eulmore. Everything was constructed with taste and artisanal mastery, vaulted roofs and clean stalls for peddling. Not to mention the citizenry seemed content. It was a veritable hub for all of Norvrandt’s people. Humes, Elves, Mystels, Galdjents, Drahns, Dwarves, Ronsos, Viis. All of the races of all different ages and creeds lived together in harmony. Not that Eulmore didn’t have a diverse populace, but Mystels and Humes seemed to be treated as a higher caste, while others were viewed as second-class citizens. None of that classism was reflected here. It seemed like everyone had an opportunity for success, and those who came seeking succor would receive their needed aid with no strings attached. It really was a sanctuary.

“It appears we have arrived,” Urianger said, “Welcome to the Crystarium, milady.”

“It’s beautiful,” Minfilia praised.

Urianger opened the door to the carriage, helping Minfilia out as the jockey stabled the amaros. Walking wasn’t as painful as before thanks to Urianger’s first aid, but the Crystarium guards still insisted she check into the infirmary posthaste. The group headed through the main aetherite plaza, citizens and passersby bowing to Minfilia in reverence. The Oracle of Light had been a symbol of hope for Norvrandt for the past century. For such laymen to witness her presence firsthand, even if she was a mere child, a fledgling Oracle who had yet to fully awaken, it was as if they were in the company of a goddess.

Still, the guards’ first priority was Minfilia’s health. Once she was hale and hearty again, then the Crystarium could offer her some well-deserved hospitality. They proceeded past the plaza, the archway opening up to a large quad, leading up to a massive tower of pure crystal. The spire stretched past the clouds, towards the never changing heavens of the everlight sky.

“What is that?” she asked in awe.

“That would be the Crystal Tower, Lady Oracle,” Lyna replied, “It is the home to the Crystal Exarch, sovereign protector of the Crystarium. Which reminds me. Urianger, pray tell the Exarch of the success of our mission.”

Minfilia instinctively grabbed onto Urianger’s arm, hesitant to part ways from him. Even if the Crystarium guards shared the same goal, it was hard for Minfilia to trust them. In the past, she had been treated with scorn, abuse, torture, all while being told it was for the “greater good,” as if being promised candy only to be force fed a lead pellet instead. Urianger was the only person she had ever met in her whole life that gave her reason to trust, and though they had met mere hours ago, she feared what would become of her if her knight was parted from her side. Yet all her fears seemed to abate when she felt that familiar, gentle hand atop her scalp.

“There, there, child,” he cooed, “I shall see thee again anon.”

“Will you be gone long?” she worried.

“Naught more than an hour. No sooner do I deliver mine report will I return with all of the haste of the wind to thy side.”

Minfilia nodded, letting go of Urianger’s arm. He bowed to her, splitting off from the crowd to climb the stairs to the Crystal Tower’s entrance. Minfilia in turn followed Lyna and the rest of the guards to a small medical ward within the square. Skilled healers patched up wounded soldiers with recovery magic, while apothecaries brewed medicinal herbs for salves and tinctures. An Elven healer turned her head, her eyes widening at sight of the young girl surrounded by guards. She could recognize that platinum blonde hair and those sapphire eyes anywhere. They were marks of the Oracle of Light.

“Chessamile,” Lyna said, “Might you have room on one of your cots for an additional patient?”

“Of course!” Chessamile replied, “Our ward will spare no expense for the Oracle of Light. Minfilia, if you would please make yourself comfortable on one of our beds.”

Minfilia walked over to an empty cot, laying down and resting her head on the pillow. It was a simple medical ward bed, but it was a million times warmer and softer than her damp prison cot back in Eulmore. If this was how comfortable the cots were, she could only imagine how soft the beds at the inns and apartments would be. The Elven woman kneeled down beside her, looking up and down her body for signs of injury.

“Pray tell, dear,” she asked, “What ails you?”

“My ribs,” she squeaked, “I have some broken ribs. But otherwise, just bruises.”

“You poor girl… But don’t worry, I will see you healed.”

Chessamile pulled out a grimoire, flipping the pages until she reached the one containing her desired spell. She whispered the incantation under her breath, the book and her hands emitting a faint, green glow. Minfilia could feel her what little pain she had left abating, the aether healing her cracked bones. Though her body was still a bit sore from the rapid healing process, it felt much better than the pain from before.

“There we go,” Chessamile smiled, “Are you feeling better?”

Minfilia nodded, “I am. Thank you Miss Chessamile.”

“Let me just get you a few potions.”

Chessamile walked over to the medicinal cupboard, withdrawing three small vials of a cerulean liquid from within.

“Take them at night before you go to sleep,” she instructed, “It will prevent any cracks from forming in your ribs during the healing process.”

“Thank you,” Minfilia nodded.

The door to the infirmary opened, making Minfilia instantly perk up. Surely it was Urianger. To her dismay, the man who approached her wasn’t her knight, but another stranger. The unfamiliar man was very short, barely over five feet tall, and clad from head to toe in robes. A hood covered much of his face and it seemed like parts of his body were encased in pure crystal. He held a crystalline staff in his hand, and had a gentle air about him.

“Minfilia, I presume,” he said.

“Y-yes,” she stammered, “Pardon but… who are you…”

“How rude of me. You may call me the Crystal Exarch. It is my honor and pleasure to have you as a guest.”

“Lord Exarch. If I may ask… where is Urianger?”

“I believe he mentioned something about picking up a parcel from the Wandering Stairs. He should be joining us shortly.”

“I… I see…”

“Minfilia, is everything alright? You seem distressed.”

“Well… So much has happened… Please don’t think I’m being ungrateful but… I’m still having a hard time processing what’s going on…”

“I understand, Minfilia. Pray, feel free to ask me anything you want. I am willing to elucidate any question you have.”

Minfilia sat up on her cot, twiddling her thumbs. This man was the sovereign of the Crystarium. No doubt he was the one who ordered her rescue. Yet she wanted to know why. Was it done out of concern for her well being, or was it to bring glory to the city-state?

“Why…” she asked, “Why did you send Urianger and the guards to my aid? I appreciate it but still…”

“I’ve heard foul rumors of the torture you endured in Eulmore,” the Exarch explained, “A child should never have to bear such torment. I believe here, we can nurture you, allow you to learn at your own pace without fear of being punished for not meeting lofty expectations.”

“But what about Urianger? He mentioned something to me about how he used to be a healer. Why did you choose him to lead my rescue?”

“Well, it was actually Urianger himself who insisted upon leading the charge. He arrived in the Crystarium roughly two moons ago, and no sooner did I mention your name that he laid down his grimoire and took up a sword. He has trained night and day to be fit to protect you, Minfilia.”

“But why? Why would he sacrifice so much for my sake? Did he really know a previous Minfilia?”

“It’s a bit of a long story; one I feel would be better explained by Urianger himself.”

The door opened once more, the clanking of armored boots indicating a familiar presence. Minfilia’s eyes lit up. It was her savior, a small box nestled in his hands.

“Speak of the devil,” the Exarch said, “I take it all went well with retrieving your parcel, Urianger.”

“Indeed,” he nodded, approaching the cot, “Art thou feeling well Minfilia?”

“I am,” she smiled.

“I have a present for thee. Do you enjoy sweets?”

“Sweets? I’ve only ever eaten meol before.”

“Thou hast ne’er enjoyed confections before? Then glad am I that I didst order this for thee.”

Urianger opened up the box, revealing six round, sweet smelling confections. She plucked one out of the box, its golden brown surface tantalizing her. Minfilia lifted the morsel to her mouth, taking a bite. It was unlike anything she had ever tasted before. She was so used to eating meol, which was mushy and practically flavorless. Yet, this treat on the other hand, was the complete opposite. It was delightfully crisp, crumbling like sand on the roof of her mouth. And the taste was even better. It was sweet, rich, and almost creamy. But it wasn’t at all heavy. She could eat this entire box at once, but loved them so much, she wanted to savor them. It was delicious enough to bring a tear to her eye.

“It…” she sobbed, “It’s so good.”

“It pleases me that they art to thy taste,” Urianger cooed.

“What are they called? It’s the most wonderful thing I’ve ever eaten.”

“These are coffee biscuits, child; tis a specialty from the Wandering Stairs.”

“Thank you, Urianger. Thank you so much.”

Urianger turned to the Exarch. Now that Minfilia had received her treatment, there was still one more formality to be addressed before she could begin enjoying her life in her new haven.

“Hast thou prepared her room in the Pendants?” he asked.

“Yes,” the Exarch nodded, “Her room is right next to yours should an emergency arise. The keeper of suites will give her a key as soon as you arrive.”

“Splendid,” Urianger replied, “Chessamile, is she primed for departure, or must she remain here erelong.”

“I wouldn’t personally recommend her moving around too much,” Chessamile informed, “Though if she wishes to sleep on one of the more comfortable beds in the Pendants, I wouldn’t blame her. Perhaps you could escort her in a wheeled chair? That way we won’t risk any old wounds reopening.”

“Verily,” Urianger responded, “Pray, bringest one hither. I shall take her to the Pendants forthwith.”

Chessamile rolled out what looked like a comfortable sitting chair, but with wheels bound to the sides. They were large enough that Minfilia could roll them on her own if she so pleased, but it also had two handles jutting out of the back for someone to push her. Urianger extended his hand, helping the child into the chair before walking around the back, pushing her out of the infirmary ward. She continued snacking on her coffee biscuits as she took in the sights of the city-state. The lively markets, the verdant gardens, the bustling taverns and restaurants. She was over the moon to see what other simple wonders the Crystarium had in store for her. Urianger pushed her up the ramp leading to the Pendants suites, greeting the suite master with a stately bow.

“Prithee, mine good ser,” Urianger said, “The Oracle of Light doth wishest to return to her room. Wouldst thou kindly bestow the key upon us?”

“Certainly,” the master of suites replied, “She will be in room 405. I do hope she enjoys her stay here.”

The man handed a glinting, silver key off to Urianger, who grasped it tightly in his hand. He took hold of the wheeled chair once more, pushing Minfilia up the spiral ramps to her room. It was set on one of the higher floors, often reserved for esteemed guests and important figures; thus did it only make sense the Oracle of Light would be granted such a haven. Once they had reached the door to her room, Urianger inserted the silver key into the lock, twisting it until the doorknob could freely move. He opened the door, showing Minfilia inside.

“Oh wow!” Minfilia gasped.

The inside of the suite was warm, light, spacious, its balcony offering her a beautiful view of Lakeland outside. The bed was large enough to fit a family of three, and bells for summoning room attendants framed the doorway.

“Art thou tired, child?” Urianger asked.

“I wouldn’t mind taking a nap,” she confessed.

“Then pray, allowest me to help thee to thy bed. Thou dost deserve thy rest.”

He helped her out of the chair, guiding her to the bed. She lay down on the mattress, the feather softness of it making her feel like she was melting into it. Yet for how plush it was, it was still firm enough that it would provide the support for her still healing ribcage. The sheets and blankets were silken against her fingers, and warm as a sheep’s wool. She crawled under the covers, putting the tinctures the Chessamile had given her in the nightstand and resting her head on the fluffed pillow. Urianger then tucked her in, patting her head and smiling gently.

“Rest thee well, Minfilia,” he cooed, “I shall be in the next room over. If thou dost need me, pray, call out for me and I shall rush to thy side.”

Minfilia nodded. She was so comfortable, she could already feel herself nodding off. She closed her eyes, letting slumber take her. Urianger kneeled down beside her, watching over her.

“Worry not, Minfilia,” he whispered, “I assure thee that I shall not remain a bystander in thy fate this time. For thy sake, for the sake of all of our allies, I shall protect thee to mine dying breath.”


	3. Happier Days

Minfilia awoke to a gentle knock at the door to her chambers. According to the Crystalline grandfather clock in the corner of the room, it was about eight in the morning, just in time for breakfast. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes, throwing on a plush robe and walking to the door. As it swung open, a Mystel handmaiden bowed politely to her, a domed, silver tray of delicious food in her hands.

“Good morning Minfilia,” she smiled, “Breakfast is served. Would you care to take it in your room, or would you prefer to dine at the Wandering Stairs?”

“Is Urianger in his room?” she asked, “If so, I would love to eat breakfast with him.”

“Unfortunately he is out on an escort mission with the Guard. He should return sometime this afternoon.”

Minfilia’s brows drooped, the distraught girl looking down to her feet. She had been living in the Crystarium for roughly a month now. Minfilia had everything she could ask for: delicious meals cooked to her liking, protection of the Guard if she wanted to go out, a nice warm bed and comfortable room. She was hardly ungrateful for this stellar treatment, gods knew it was far better than her life in Eulmore, but there was something missing: Urianger. She had hardly seen her knight since the day he rescued her. For days on end, he would go out on excursions with the Crystarium Guard, and if she did manage to see him around the city, he was often preoccupied, either training to better hone his skills as a paladin, or tucked away in the library, researching for hours on end. She truly missed him.

“Rena,” she said to the Mystel handmaid.

“Yes Lady Oracle?” Rena replied.

“Would it be possible for me to eat my breakfast at the Exarch Gate?”

“As long as we don’t leave the city, I don’t see why not! Pray, allow me to fetch a picnic blanket for your comfort. I will return to your room shortly.”

Rena curtseyed stately, closing the door behind her to allow the Oracle of Light to get dressed. Minfilia walked over to her dresser, pulling out one of the many new dresses the Crystarium’s Weavers had provided for her. She plucked out a simple white dress, finely spun macramé extending from the turtleneck collar to the long, puffed sleeves. It was a comfortable dress, easy to move in and soft against her skin, matching perfectly with her favorite pair of black boots. Minfilia looked in the mirror, running a brush through her platinum blonde hair and working out every last tangle and flyaway. She never was fond of her appearance, but in this dress, she actually felt pretty. A knock on the door alerted her of Rena’s return, and Minfilia rushed to the entryway to greet the handmaid.

“Is this blanket to your liking Lady Oracle?” Rena asked, showing off a red-checkered picnic blanket, spun from the softest wool.

“It’s lovely,” Minfilia smiled, “Thank you.”

“Please, lead the way to the gate. I will lay it out wherever you desire.”

Minfilia nodded, walking down the winding ramp of the Pendants towards the markets. There seemed to be more stalls out than usual, and peddlers slowly began to display their wares. Though it was primarily farmers and other food sellers, Minfilia noticed a few tailors and jewelers setting up shop as well.

“Rena,” Minfilia wondered, “Is something special happening today?”

“Oh, I never realized this was your first time seeing it!” Rena beamed, “The Crystarium always holds a harvest festival this time of year to celebrate nature’s bounty. For the past few years it has been a bit sparse, but as the soils of Lakeland regain their fertility, so does our festival grow.”

“Is that so?”

“As a matter of fact, Urianger should be escorting some of the vendors from Sullen. Our fishmongers have a long and arduous road coming all the way from the other side of Lakeland, and it’s often plagued by the presence of Sin Eaters and other monsters. So the Exarch often requests guards to escort them safely.”

“So… Urianger should return in time to enjoy the festival?”

“He should!”

A smile stretched across Minfilia’s face. She had never been to a festival before, and would love to go with the kind man who saved her life. Minfilia looked to the silver dome still in Rena’s hands. Worrying it was growing cold, she decided to take her breakfast by the dappled grapevines to the east of the Wandering Stairs. It wasn’t as scenic as the Exarch Gate, but it still had a beautiful view of Lakeland. Rena laid out the blanket, allowing Minfilia to sit down before lifting the dome on the tray. Atop the platter was a beautiful, golden waffle, maple syrup and a pad of yellow butter melting into its crevices. Fresh strawberries decorated the plate, delightfully plump, juicy, and shiny.

“Enjoy your breakfast,” Rena said, handing her a fork and knife to dig in.

“Thank you Rena,” Minfilia smiled, slicing off a piece of the waffle.

The exterior of the waffle was still crisp while the inside was light and fluffy. The butter added just the right amount of richness while the maple syrup complimented the already sweet crumb of the waffle. Minfilia felt she could eat the strawberries themselves as a meal of its own, as they were so succulent and fresh.

“Are you enjoying your meal Lady Oracle?” Rena asked.

“Yes. It’s delicious as always,” Minfilia nodded, continuing to tuck into her meal.

Every single morsel Minfilia had the pleasure of tasting in the Crystarium made her wonder how she had survived on flavorless meol until now. The finest Culinarians catered to her every taste, her palate developing as she learned of each new flavor. She had tasted many a delicious savory meal while here, but her favorite was sweet desserts. Waffles, cakes, tarts, pasties; Minfilia had practically become a connoisseur of confections. Still, her favorite treat was the coffee biscuits that Urianger had given to her on her first day in the Crystarium. It was the first time she had ever tasted the sweetness of vanilla, the slightly bitter tinge of coffee, the richness of chocolate. The memory alone justified it as her favorite food.

She swirled the last bite of waffle around in the remaining puddle of syrup and butter, the spongy waffle absorbing every last bit of its maple sweetness. Minfilia swallowed the last morsel of her breakfast, handing the now empty tray to the Mystel handmaiden.

“Well Minfilia,” Rena said, “Would you like to return to your room? Or perhaps the Cabinet of Curiosity for a bit of light reading?”

“Actually,” Minfilia replied, “Can we go to the sparring grounds? I feel healthy enough to practice again.”

“Are you certain Minfilia? None of us want you to strain yourself…”

“I’m sure, Rena.”

“As you wish, Lady Oracle.”

The two proceeded over to the Crystarium Guards’ training grounds, checking into the barracks to retrieve a spare set of wooden daggers for Minfilia to practice with. Though Lyna was still out on official guard duty, no doubt with Urianger, there were still ample guards and trainees for Minfilia to practice with. This was her first time since her arrival in the Crystarium that Minfilia had the opportunity to practice her martial art. Usually Urianger would stop her before she could even come within a malm of the training ground, fairly out of concern for her health, but Minfilia was perfectly hale and hearty now. As she had learned from experience, she needed to be able to defend herself, or at the very least be quick enough to dodge blows.

She grasped her hands around the wooden hilts of the daggers, the weapons surprisingly light in her hand. Whenever Ran’Jit came to “spar” with her, he always insisted upon using real weapons. It was incredibly dangerous, and often left her with numerous injuries, but Ran’Jit claimed it would better prepare her for real battles. Minfilia looked around the training grounds, trying to find any trainees or guards that would be willing to spar with her. Ideally, she would spar with someone around her level, but she had a feeling even the most green recruits could overpower her with ease.

Over by the targets for archery and projectile practice, Minfilia spotted a potential sparring partner. She was a small, Drahn girl, clearly still a bit rough around the edges and new to the Guard. Much like Minfilia, she chose the dagger as her weapon of choice, repeatedly throwing them at the target to practice her aim. Minfilia crept up behind her, tapping her on her shoulder to get her attention. The Drahn girl yelped in surprise, brandishing her daggers to defend herself. Yet the second her eyes locked with her “would be assassin” her look of fear turned into one of shame, the girl bowing her head.

“Pardon my rudeness Lady Oracle!” she squeaked, “Your footsteps were so quiet I had no idea it was you!”

“It’s alright,” Minfilia chuckled, “Are you sparring with anyone at the moment, miss?”

“No, I was just practicing on my own. Is there something I can assist you with, Minfilia?”

“Actually, I was wondering if you would be willing to help me practice. I hardly see anyone using daggers, so it’s a bit difficult for me to find a teacher, let alone a sparring partner.”

The Drahn girl raised her hand to her cheeks, a pinkish blush painting her fair skin.

“Me?” she flushed, “You wanted to train with me?”

“If you’re too preoccupied with other things I understand,” Minfilia said, “But I…”

“I would be honored to help you train, Lady Oracle!”

“Thank you so much, miss… pardon but what is your name?”

The Drahn girl saluted her, trying to hide how flustered she was from being selected by the Oracle of Light herself as a sparring partner.

“Madiha, Lady Oracle,” she said.

“It’s nice to meet you Madiha,” Minfilia smiled, “And you don’t need to call me ‘Lady Oracle.’ Please, just call me Minfilia.”

“Oh, of course La… Minfilia.”

Madiha drew her training daggers, getting into sparring position.

“Come at me Minfilia!” Madiha shouted, trying to sound intimidating even with her higher pitched voice, “Give me the best you’ve got!”

Minfilia drew her daggers, lunging at Madiha. Though Madiha was meek and mild herself, she didn’t hold back against Minfilia. Yet she was compassionate enough to not punish her for her blunders. If Minfilia were to stumble or cringe in pain, Madiha would check in on her to make sure she was alright. And if Minfilia was able to overpower her sparring partner, Madiha would praise her for her martial prowess. With Madiha’s aid, Minfilia felt she was actually improving, and an hour of practice seemed to flit by as if it were only a minute.

“Tis good to that thou art feeling well enough to spar,” a familiar voice said from the entrance to the Guard barracks, “I do hope Madiha isn’t treating thou too roughly.”

Minfilia turned her head, a bright grin stretching across her face. Urianger had returned from his excursion, no worse for wear than when she last saw him.

“Urianger!” she beamed, “You’re back!”

“Hello Ser Urianger,” Madiha bowed, “Minfilia is doing quite well in her training. I’ve been fighting with all of my strength and she can still go toe to toe with me.”

“It pleases me to hear that,” Urianger replied, “Minfilia, hast thou any new injuries?”

“None,” Minfilia smirked, “We’ve been using wooden daggers, so the worst injury I could get is a splinter in my thumb.”

Urianger patted her on the head, gently caressing her platinum blonde hair.

“Wouldst thou carest to spar erelonger?” Urianger asked, “Or art thou spent for the day.”

“Actually,” Minfilia started, “Rena told me that there’s going to be a festival today in the marketplace. Can we go to it? I’ve never been to one before.”

“Whate’er thou desirest, child.”

***

Minfilia’s eyes lit up as she looked around the marketplace, admiring the brightly colored stalls set up around the square. As expected of a harvest festival, most of the stalls peddled fresh meats, fish, produce, and bread, almost like a bigger farmer’s market. But that wasn’t all. Bards played songs on lyres and flutes, their wonderful music echoing throughout the quad. Weavers and leatherworkers displayed their finest crafted clothing, shoes, and fabrics, while Jewelers and Goldsmiths peddled sparkling accessories. To top it all off, there was a section of the Culinarians cooking portable, but delicious meals and snacks for the attendees. The smell of it alone made her stomach growl.

“Urianger,” she asked, “Can we get some food?”

“Of course, milady,” Urianger replied, “For I am rather peckish mineself.”

Urianger escorted her to the food stalls, the pair examining their options for their supper. They seemed to have cuisine from all corners of Norvrandt. From hearty Dwarven stews to light and sweet Fae amuse-bouches, any and all citizens of the Crystarium could find something that would satisfy their tastes.

“What wouldst thou like, milady?” Urianger asked, “I have plenty of gil.”

Minfilia looked around the stalls, almost overwhelmed by all of the options. As much as she loved sweets, she was in the mood for something savory and hearty, something that would warm her from the inside out. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a Galdjent woman snacking on what looked like a fish shaped meat pie. Steam rose from the golden brown crust, and from the look of joy on the woman’s face, it was delicious too.

“Urianger,” she asked, “Can I get one of those fish pies? Like what that woman is having?”

“Of course child,” Urianger grinned.

They walked over to the meat pie booth, noticing a “Herring Pie” listed amongst the specialties. As they approached the front of the line, the Mystel Culinarian working the stand beamed in joy and awe.

“Wicked White,” he smiled, “To think I’d not only be serving the Oracle of Light, but the kind ser who saved my fishmonger’s arse.”

“Thou didst receive thy stock of seafood from Sullen?” Urianger asked.

“Yes ser. Caught you and my fishmonger walking through the Exarch Gate earlier today. Told me you cut down every Eater that crossed his path. Really saved his tail, you did!”

“Well, glad am I that I was able to carry out mine duty, for both thy and his sake.”

“What can I get for you then?”

“Two Herring Pies, if thou wouldst.”

“Coming right up.”

The Culinarian reached into his warming box, plucking out two warm, fresh Herring Pies. He wrapped them up in paper and handed the pastries to Minfilia, still warm in the palms of her hands. Before Urianger could pay for the pies, the Mystel cut him off.

“It’s on the house,” he said.

“Art thou certain?” Urianger asked.

“Far as I’m concerned, if you hadn’t stepped in to escort my fishmonger, I wouldn’t even be selling these Herring Pies tonight! The least I can do is give you them for free to express my thanks.”

“Thank thee kindly. Thy gesture is much appreciated.”

“Enjoy the rest of the festival!”

Minfilia and Urianger stepped out of the line, heading over to a comfortable wooden bench on the edge of the marketplace. The pies were temptingly warm and smelled amazing, but Minfilia didn’t want to risk spilling gravy on her dress, soiling the beautiful white fabric. The two sat down on the bench, Minfilia handing one pie off to Urianger before unwrapping her own. Her mouth watered at the sight of that golden brown crust, the steam still rising from its fresh, warm exterior. Eagerly, she took a bite, only to immediately lurch back in pain. The filling was still piping hot, molten gravy burning her tongue. Yet even though the temperature of the interior was scalding, it was so delicious Minfilia didn’t think twice about taking another bite. The herring was delightfully briny without being too salty, and the gravy inside was creamy and rich, all wrapped up in a perfectly flakey and buttery pastry.

“Its delicious,” Minfilia beamed.

“I am compelled to agree with thee, Minfilia,” Urianger replied, “Thou hast made a wondrous choice for our supper this eve. But pray, hast thou saved room for dessert? Should thou crave some confections, I willst gladly purchase some for thee.”

“I think I’ll be fine, Urianger. If I’m being honest, this pie is pretty filling.”

“Strain thyself not to finish it. If thou art satisfied, then thou mayest save the rest for later.”

Minfilia nodded her head, taking a few more bites of the pie. She had barely finished half of it and already felt like her stomach was about to burst. Carefully, she wrapped the rest of the pie up, tucking it away for later. Urianger took the last bite of his pie, using the excess wrapping from his pastry to offer an extra layer of protection for Minfilia’s leftovers.

“Is there aught else though dost wish to do, milady?” Urianger asked.

Minfilia’s gaze shifted to the stalls peddling clothing and accessories. Since her arrival in the Crystarium, local tailors had fashioned numerous beautiful dresses for her to wear. Not that she didn’t appreciate their generosity, but Minfilia still enjoyed at least window-shopping for new outfits.

“Could we look at the accessory booths?” Minfilia asked.

“Of course,” Urianger nodded.

He escorted her to the Weavers’ and Jewelers’ stalls, watching as she examined the wares with intrigue. When Urianger, first rescued Minfilia, she appeared to wear little more than rags. It seemed only natural that she would be captivated by these finer textiles, having been denied such a luxury before. Minfilia scoured the booths, not looking for anything in particular, but fascinated by the wares nonetheless. Suddenly, something caught her eye. It stood out amongst the textiles: a thin, pink ribbon with a subtle, satin sheen. It was something so simple, yet Minfilia was drawn to it.

“Admiring our notions miss?” the Galdjent weaver manning the storefront asked, “That ribbon makes a wonderful trim for dresses.”

“It’s beautiful,” Minfilia praised, “How much is it?”

“Ten gil per metre. It’s spun from fine silk after all.”

Minfilia turned to Urianger, gripping the spool of ribbon in hand.

“Wouldst thou like it Minfilia?” Urianger offered.

“It’s lovely,” she said, “But I don’t know what I would do with it. I don’t know how to sew.”

Urianger snapped his fingers, an idea striking him.

“Good weaver,” he said, “We shall take a metre of that ribbon.”

“Certainly,” the Weaver replied, cutting a strip of the ribbon off of the spool, “That will be ten gil, good ser.”

Urianger paid the Weaver for the ribbon, exchanging his gil for the silken strip. He motioned to Minfilia to follow him, moving out of the way of foot traffic. He grasped some locks of Minfilia’s hair, threading the ribbon through the strands and into a neat plat before tying it at the top into a beautiful bow. Urianger wiped his brow, guiding her to a mirror to examine his handiwork.

“Pray tell,” he asked, “What dost thou think?”

Minfilia smiled, twirling the braid between her fingers. It was just a simple accessory, but it made her feel so pretty.

“I love it!” she beamed, “Thank you Urianger!”

She hugged the Elf tightly, feeling his hand pat her gently on the head. This was the most fun Minfilia had ever had in her whole life. Everyone in the Crystarium was so nice; the food was delicious, the city was beautiful, and to top it all off, she had a caring knight to protect her. This was the best day of her life.

But all good things come to an end.

A shriek rang out through the marketplace, merchants and vendors scurrying away in a frenzy. People were panicking, abandoning their wares to get to safety as an unstoppable force cut through the crowd, leaving casualties in his wake. Even as the Crystarium Guard attempted to fend the threat off, the trained soldiers seemed to drop like flies. Minfilia’s heart sunk. In the distance, she spotted that dragon familiar who had struck so much fear into her heart before.

Ran’Jit had found her.

“No…” she whimpered, “No!”

Urianger drew his weapon, standing his guard to protect Minfilia.

“Twas only a matter of time before the Beastmaster caught wind of our trail,” he hissed, “Mine apologies child. I fear we must to flee.”

Minfilia felt frozen in place. Even though the Guard had since arrived at the scene to provide their aid, Minfilia knew firsthand how dangerous Ran’Jit was. He could fell an entire army without breaking a sweat if he so desired, and would slaughter innocents without remorse if it meant accomplishing his goal. She thought back to her peaceful days here, to all the people who offered her succor when she needed it most. Lyna, Chessamile, Rena, Madiha, the Exarch himself: they’d all be in grave danger if she remained here. They really had no choice but to run.

“I understand,” Minfilia nodded.

Urianger grabbed her hand, using the cover of the chaos to sneak her away to the amaro launch. They hadn’t the time to fill out the paperwork for a rental. A simple nod to the amaro tamer and the screams from the chaos breaking out in the marketplace was enough to show it was an emergency. The amarokeep hastily grabbed a two-seated amaro, handing the reins off to the elven knight before him.

“Fly like the wind,” he said.

“Whatever it may take to keep the Oracle safe,” Urianger replied.

He hoisted Minfilia onto the Amaro’s back before climbing on himself and cracking the reins. The camel bird took to the skies, flying away from the Crystarium. As they flew off into the eternal daylight of Lakeland, Minfilia gazed back at her former haven. Though she had spent barely a month there, the memories she made were ones she would cherish forever. She knew this happiness wouldn’t last, that Eulmore would eventually find out she had gone missing and hunt her down, but she was grateful for the moment of repose nonetheless, however fleeting it was.

“Where are we off to now?” Minfilia asked.

“Sadly I know not where the wind doth take us,” Urianger admitted, “Though tis not entirely our bane. For if we wander, it shall pose a greater challenge for Ran’Jit to track us.”

“I hope everyone is alright… back in the Crystarium.”

“I still have mine linkpearl. If thou wishest, I couldst loan it to thee to call Lyna ere we find a new sanctuary.”

“Do you think she’ll be ok? I’m really worried, Urianger.”

“Fret not, milady. The Crystarium Guard is formidable indeed, and I do not doubt they shall survive this ordeal.”

Minfilia hugged on tightly to Urianger, tears leaking from her eyes. Her heart ached for those affected by this act of terrorism. Had she never left Eulmore, had she never taken up residence in the Crystarium, no one would have been hurt by Ran’Jit’s warpath; no one would have been injured or killed.

“Weep not, milady,” Urianger assured, “Our path ahead hath grown perilous, but even as we venture into the unknown, we must hold strong to our hope. Thusly such is all we dost have, ere we must trust that it shall guide us through this era of uncertainty.”

Minfilia sniffed, trying to keep a positive perspective. The past couldn’t be changed, but dwelling on what might be would only sour her mood further. She turned away from the Crystarium, her eyes locked on the horizon before her. Minfilia knew not what the future had in store for her, but so long as her knight was there to protect her, she would persevere.


	4. Answering the Call

Krile rubbed her chin in thought, examining the motionless form of her fallen ally. Urianger’s collapse was so sudden, none of the Scions had time to react, let alone prepare due to lack of precedence. His condition was unlike anything the esteemed researcher had seen before. He still breathed, his pulse faint, but not still. Yet this was no ordinary bout of aether sickness. He was practically comatose, the aether density in his body almost nonexistent. The Lalafell sighed, leaving her friend to rest on the cot in the Dawn’s Respite. She returned to the Rising Stones, where her fellow Scions lie in wait, clearly distraught by Urianger’s condition.

“How does he fare Krile?” Y’Shtola asked.

“It looks rather grave, sadly,” she confessed, “His body yet lives, but I can hardly sense a trace of his soul. I can supply him with aether to maintain his body’s functions, but I fear such is all I can do. Pray forgive me for being in the dark on this matter.”

“It’s not your fault Krile,” Alisaie assured, “But it’s all so strange… that disembodied voice… that pain that felt like my skull was being cleaved in twain… what… what in the hells was that?”

“Perhaps it is an aspect of the Echo we have yet to discover,” Krile theorized, “Still, I recommend remaining together. Were that ‘call’ as you referred to it to return, it would be disastrous if one of you succumbed to it mid battle.”

“Understood,” Y’Shtola nodded.

The Scions all seemed to be in agreement on the matter. Though much still needed to be discussed on rebuilding both Doma and Ala Mhigo, the safety of the Scions, especially the Warrior of Light, took priority. The Scions dispersed within the headquarters, Alphinaud and Y’Shtola retreating to consult their archives for a clue to the true nature of the “call” while the Warrior of Light went with Alisaie to further discuss their plans. One Scion however, remained with Krile; a certain Hyuran rogue who hardly seemed to wear a smile anymore. Yet today his mood seemed even fouler, his melancholy palpable to all around him.

“Thancred…” Krile sighed.

“Let me see him,” Thancred growled.

“Thancred, I understand your concern… why its duly appreciated dare I say, but I’m not sure it would be wise to visit him right now.”

“I don’t care if you deem it wise or not! Let me see him!”

Krile was taken aback by Thancred’s tone. The poor man hadn’t been the same since he sprung back from the lifesource. He had become cold, jaded, aloof; heart hardened and blind in one eye. It was crushing to see a man once so sociable and full of life in such a depressed state. Yet for everything that had changed about him, the Hyur still retained his empathy, and it was painfully apparent to Thancred that his yelling had startled his ally.

“I’m sorry for snapping,” Thancred mumbled, shaking his head, “But how else do you expect me to react? Is it wrong for me to be concerned?”

“Not at all,” Krile replied, “But recklessness is hardly a balm for suffering! I doubt his condition is contagious, but nevertheless, we must proceed with due caution.”

“We’ve already lost so many dear friends… Master Louisoïx, Moenbryda, Papalymo, Minfilia… do you expect me to simply sit idly by as the life of yet another person I care about slips through my fingers?”

“Thancred, I know your pain all too well. Every friend we lose is a blade through my heart, but in a way, it inspires me to hone my skills as a healer: to prevent any more precious lives from being extinguished.”

“THEN HELP HIM! IDLING DOES NOTHING!”

“He is not yet lost, Thancred!”

Thancred clenched his fist and gritted his teeth. Flying off the handle would only alienate Krile, and frustrated as he may be, it would behoove him to not antagonize the healer treating his dear friend. He walked up to the door to the Dawn’s Respite, the hard wood cold against his forehead.

“Please don’t go inside, Thancred,” Krile begged.

“I’m not going to,” Thancred responded, “Just leave me be for a moment, Krile.”

The Lalafell nodded her head, reluctantly stepping away to give Thancred his space. Once alone, Thancred raised his hand to the door. When Urianger passed out at the meeting, he looked like a corpse, his body still and tense as stone. Those godsdamned goggles that obscured his eyes gave little hint to his state too. Were those spheres of glinting gold glazed over and cold as a dead Namazu’s, or closed, mayhap to be confused with slumber? Urianger hardly opened up to everyone, save for Moenbryda - sometimes Thancred himself if he was lucky, but Thancred still considered the Elezen a close friend. He feared for Urianger’s fate, angry and confused as to why this was happening, why those he grew close to dropped like flies. This wasn’t a casualty of war. It seemed like a curse, a cheat, and he wouldn’t wish for anyone to die in such a fashion. Thancred slammed his fist on the door. Their band of Archons, the last disciples of Master Louisoïx, seemed to ever dwindle, and Thancred couldn’t bear to lose any more.

Suddenly a twinge of pain.

“Oh no…” he thought.

The pain in his head grew, turning into an unbearable sear that made him feel like something was about to hatch from his skull. He glanced around the room, noticing his other friends possessed of the Echo cringing in pain.

Then came that damn voice…

_“Answer the call…”_ it begged.

“Shut up!” Thancred hissed, “Get out of my damn head!”

The pain only seemed to grow stronger. He squinted his eyes shut, his fingernails digging into his scalp as if to claw the intruding voice out. It felt like his mind was being lit aflame, like his soul was being ripped from his body. The pain… it wasn’t nearly this intense before.

Then everything went black.

Thancred’s body collapsed, limp as a sack of popotoes, on the floor of the Rising Stones. Y’Shtola’s body followed suit, their eyes shut, their breathing easy, but their souls gone without a trace. Tataru gasped, raising her hands to her lips. Tears welled up in her eyes, threatening to trickle down her soft cheeks.

“No…” she cried, “NOOO!”

***

Memories of Thancred’s life flashed before his eyes as he was carried through and endless sea of stars: his childhood as a bastard foundling in Limsa, being taken under Louisoïx’s wing, becoming an Archon and fighting at Cartineau with Eorzea’s brightest. But with it, came all his shortcomings: his possession by Lahabrea, losing vision in one of his eyes, being helpless to protect Minfilia. He wanted to look away, but even if he closed his eyes, the memories still persisted.

As he floated aimlessly, adrift in a sea of memories and crystal, ever at the mercy of its current, he saw a light in the distance. He reached out to it, desperate to flee from his thoughts, his regrets. Perhaps fate had finally decided to take pity on him, as he found himself being drawn into that warm embrace. The light was blindingly bright, but assuring: like the end of a journey. He closed his eyes as he was drawn into it, his feet finally coming into contact with solid ground once more.

“No…” a distraught voice said, “I’ve failed again…”

That voice felt familiar, the mere sound of it lighting a flame of rage in Thancred’s belly. That was the very voice that “called” to him, the one that yanked him away from his consciousness.

“You…” yet another familiar voice asked, “Who are you? And where are we?”

Thancred turned his head, noticing Y’Shtola standing wearily by his side. She too seemed a bit disoriented, rubbing her head to subdue the faint remnants of her migraine. He heard the clack of a staff against the ground, and his gazed shifted forward. It was then that Thancred knew they had been dragged into unfamiliar territory.

He and Y’Shtola stood in a room of pure crystal, a short, hooded man in extravagant robes standing before them. He held a bejeweled scepter in his hand, the limb appearing encased in crystal and cracked with gold. Thancred scowled, drawing his daggers and readying himself to strike. Yet the hooded man seemed to step back, dropping his weapon and raising his hands to better convey his intentions.

“I mean you no harm, brave warriors,” he said, “I take it you are Thancred and Y’Shtola, are you not? Scions of the Seventh Dawn?”

“How the hells do you know us?” Thancred threatened, “Tell us who you are! If you truly claim to be our ally, then I assume you will have no problem telling us such.”

“I fear the name I was once called has since been discarded, but you may call me the Crystal Exarch,” he informed, “And I regret to inform you that you two are rather far from home…”

“What do you mean?” Thancred drilled.

“I assume you are well acquainted with the shards oh Hydaelyn, are you not? This is but one of the fourteen, one which has been teetering on the edge of destruction after a calamity of Light from a century past. Welcome to the First.”

The First? They had been called to a different star? Now that Thancred thought about it, he recalled a party of adventurers, the so-called Warriors of Darkness, who came to their world after their own had been destroyed by an onslaught of Light. Certainly this couldn’t be that very world.

“Crystal Exarch,” Y’Shtola pondered, tapping her cheek with her knuckle, “For what reason have you brought us here?”

The Exarch sighed, “Alas, the two of you were not my target. It was my full intention to call the Warrior of Light to the First in order to save it from its untimely demise. Unfortunately, calling a soul from another world is a precise task, one which I sadly had to perform blind. My call reached all who had the Echo, and as the Warrior of Light surrounds themselves with allies possessing the Gift, the call becomes a guessing game.”

“Wait a moment,” Thancred said, “You mentioned something about calling our souls… and you were able to not only identify us as Scions, but also call us by name…”

“What are you insinuating Thancred?” Y’Shtola asked.

“Either the Exarch knows more than he’s letting off,” Thancred said, “Or he’s met someone who _does_ know about us. Mayhap a certain friend that remains locked in a comatose state on our star. Care to explain, Exarch?”

“I won’t lie to you,” the Exarch confessed, “I know much about you. You are Thancred Waters and Y’Shtola Rhul, Scions of the Seventh Dawn and allies of a certain Urianger Augurelt. Twas he who told me about you, recounting your tales of heroism alongside him and the Warrior of Light.”

“I knew it…” Thancred uttered, “So he is here…”

“He has been here for two years,” the Exarch informed, “And was an invaluable ally to our city-state, the Crystarium.”

Thancred paused.

“Wait,” he said, “Two years? It’s hardly been a week since he passed out on our world.”

“Time moves different on the First,” the Exarch said, “The past 100 years on our shard has passed in mere moons on the Source. Time here is inconsistent, ever fluctuating due to the aetheric imbalance on our star. Perhaps once the night returns will our two stars align again.”

“What do you mean by ‘when the night returns’?” Y’Shtola asked.

“I fear it is a long story,” the Exarch explained, “But I must be transparent with you. I will tell you everything.”

The Crystal Exarch sat the two down, telling them of the recent history of the First. They learned of the Calamity of Light, the former Warriors of Light who gave their lives in a desperate attempt to save their star from a deadly deluge of aether, the never changing skies and parched lands, the aether hungry beasts known as Sin Eaters who prowled the continent of Norvrandt, hunting down innocents to sate their infinite appetite. But a certain deus ex machina was what caught Thancred’s attention. It was the name of this star’s saint, savior, goddess even; a name that was all too familiar to him.

“Pardon me Exarch,” he interrupted, “But did you say… Minfilia?”

“Yes,” The Exarch replied, “Twas her power that halted the flood. She had since been reincarnated time and time again to ensure the Light doesn’t lose control once more.”

Thancred’s mood suddenly changed. He was initially furious at being called, terrified that his allies would panic knowing that both he and Y’Shtola’s bodies were now in the same state as Urianger’s, unaware of how to proceed. Yet hearing that Minfilia, the girl he viewed like a younger sister, the girl he swore and failed to protect was alive on this shard… it gave him hope.

“Tell me,” he said, “Where is she? Minfilia…”

“She us under the protection of Urianger,” the Exarch informed, “The girl is barely twelve summers old, and prior to Urianger guarding her, was kept as a prisoner by the city-state of Eulmore. As she and he are technically fugitives, the two are constantly on the run around the continent.”

“So you don’t know where they are…”

“Actually, I have heard word from the Pixies that they have been trying to find a new haven in Il Mheg. Faefolk are rather capricious beings who welcome the pure of heart and shun the wicked. Naturally, the depraved forces of Eulmore would be expelled from their land on sight.”

Thancred rubbed his chin. He may not be the textbook definition of pure of heart, but venturing to this land would be worth the risk. It would kill two birds with one stone, finding both his friend Urianger and long lost family, Minfilia. He didn’t care if she was a reincarnation. He didn’t care if she was just a child now. Thancred finally had a chance to redeem himself, to protect the girl he was once powerless to save.

“Which way is Il Mheg?” Thancred ordered, “I’ll fight for you. I’ll fight for the future of this star. Just tell me how I can see her again.”

“That certainly got you to change your tone,” Y’Shtola chuckled, “I personally see no quarrel in supporting the Exarch’s cause. If we know not how to return to our bodies, we might as well provide our aid, and perhaps do some research on how to return to our home in our free time.”

The Exarch smiled gently, nodding his head in approval.

“I appreciate your willingness to cooperate,” he said, “But we mustn’t act hastily. Much needs to be prepared before we can send the two of you off. To begin with, in which city-state would you care to stand sentinel? The island nation of Kholusia is sadly out of the question due to the Crystarium’s strained relationship with them, but there are two other lands in addition to Il Mheg in need of aid. The parched deserts of Ahm Mareng are ever in need of astute healers to tend to the wounded and sickly, while the Rak’Tika Greatwood will provide you with due insight onto the nature of the calamity of Light, ever aided by the Viis guardians of Ronka.”

“You should probably make for Ahm Mareng then,” Thancred suggested, “You have quite the skill for Conjuring, I bet they could use your help.”

“As tempting a suggestion that is,” Y’Shtola replied, “I find myself more inclined to secure a station in Rak’Tika. I feel I have reached my limits as a Conjurer and wish to take on a role better suited to my potential. Perhaps I could learn some sorcery as my Master Matoya practices. Besides, I feel my effort would be better spent in research, and if the Rak’Tika Greatwood will elucidate the mysteries of this brave new world, then that is where I shall remain.”

“If that’s what you wish,” Thancred conceded, “I still have my heart set on Il Mheg. I appreciate the fact that Urianger has looked after Minfilia for so long, but I’m sure it has been taxing for him to defend her as a mage.”

“Actually,” the Exarch interjected, “Urianger is quite the seasoned knight now. He took up the mantle of a Paladin upon arrival and has been ever improving at the art of war.”

“I never thought I’d see the day he would pick up a disciple of war…” Thancred mumbled, “But I digress.”

“I will arrange with the amaro porters to secure your passage to Il Mheg and Rak’Tika,” the Exarch said, “Just think of them as our shard’s chocobos, as they are also cavalry birds.”

“Do they smell any better?” Thancred asked.

“Well, they smell how you’d expect.”

“So they smell dreadful…”

“Sadly.”

Thancred sighed, “Oh well. It’s not like we have many other options.”

“Well, if we’re all in agreement on how to proceed,” the Exarch cleared his throat, “Would you care to tour the Crystarium? Though he hardly visits our city-state anymore, at one point, Urianger called the Crystarium his home.”

“Pray don’t take offense,” Thancred said, “But I would prefer to get to Il Mheg as fast as possible.”

“None taken. I understand your desire to see your dear friend again. Pray, visit the Amaro launch. Tell them the Exarch has personally requested a loan of two of our finest birds for you to use.”

“Very well,” Y’Shtola nodded, making her way to the door, “Come now Thancred. A new world awaits.”


	5. The Land of the Fae

Wind whipped through Thancred’s hair as his amaro soared through the skies of Lakeland. Having seen Light as a blessing until now, he was almost shocked to see the kind of damage so much aether could bring upon the land. The grounds were parched, and what little greenery remained had been dyed lavender. Even the daylit sky seemed unsettling to him. He was so used to a comforting pastel blue, white clouds floating idly across the vast expanse above. Yet here, the sky seemed to never change, a permanent, ominous off-white. It was a harsh wakeup call for him, but to the people of Norvrandt, this was their reality. To many, this oppressive light was all they had ever known.

His bird had long since drifted from Y’Shtola’s path, hers now bound for the Rak’Tika Greatwood. Hindsight was beginning to get the better of him. Thancred knew Y’Shtola could hold her own in a fight, but he was uncertain if and when he would see her again. She was never one for hermitage, but the Miqo’te always had a hard time parting from her work and studies, especially if the topic tickled her curiosity.

Gradually, the landscape below him began to change. By no means was the new environment verdant, but it was certainly greener than Lakeland. Prismatic crystals jutted from the ground, halos of rainbows refracting the light passing through them. The grass in this land was almost pink, but there were several sparse patches of green up ahead and trees whose leaves maintained their standard color. A mist seemed to hang in the air, and in the distance, Thancred could make out a large castle, standing sentinel at the center of a lake. Shimmering wings sprouted from behind it, and its tinted stained glass windows offered little hint as to who might be dwelling within.

The Amaro began its descent, approaching its instructed destination. It appeared to be bound for an Aetherite plaza, a beacon for civilization. Yet Thancred had a hard time discerning any houses, farms, or mills. Had it not been for the massive crystal marking the location, he would have dismissed it as an ordinary field. As the amaro descended closer to the ground, something caught Thancred’s attention: several small dots flitting around below. They appeared to be small beings, much like the Sylphs of the Source, no more than a foot tall and perpetually in flight due to the glittering wings sprouting from their backs. The majority of them were green in color, but he also spotted a few orange, pink, and white ones flying about. Their abodes, storefronts, and stables seemed to be carved into the hills themselves: tiny canopies fit for its petit residents. No sooner had his amaro made contact with the ground below did several of these beings flit over to him, looking him over with intrigue.

“Oh?” one giggled, “A Hume! I’ve never seen a Hume like this around here!”

“He smells funny!” another one teased, “Like the armpit of a hropken!”

Thancred was taken aback as another one of these small creatures pulled on his low ponytail, making him hiss in pain.

“His hair is so greasy!” they snickered, “Maybe he bathes with gigantoads!”

Thancred sighed. To be fair, the Exarch had warned him that the beings who lived in Il Mheg, the faefolk, were rather capricious, but he didn’t exactly appreciate being called smelly and greasy. Still, he recalled a certain warning prior to his departure: that the fae embraced the pure of heart and shunned the wicked. If he didn’t want to fall victim to their magicks, Thancred would have to grin and bear it.

“What brings you here, Stinky Hume?” a fae asked, “Have you come to play with us?”

Stinky Hume…

How desperately Thancred wished that nickname wouldn’t stick…

“I’m looking for some friends,” Thancred said, forcing a smile despite the numerous faefolk poking his skin and tugging at his hair.

“Friends!” a jubilant fae beamed, “We’ll be your friends! We love to play! Do you like swimming and rolling down hills? Maybe cuddling with porxies and sheep?”

“Well, as fun as that sounds,” Thancred fibbed, “I have two friends that I’m searching for. I heard they were around here somewhere. One is a small Hyur girl, and the other an Elezen man with silver hair and a beard. Have you seen them around? I’ve missed them dearly.”

“Hyur? Elezen?” the fae asked.

Now that Thancred thought about it, the fae called him a “Hume” rather than a Hyur. Perhaps this shard had different names for races than the ones he was accustomed to on the Source.

“My apologies,” Thancred said, trying to cover his blunder, “It’s a regional dialect. By Hyur, I mean Hume. And by Elezen I mean… well, they’re very tall, with long necks and pointed ears…”

“Ah, an Elf!” they answered.

“Yes… an Elf,” Thancred replied.

A pink fae emerged from the forming crowd, rubbing their chin before snapping their fingers.

“I do believe I have seen a Hume and an Elf around here,” they informed.

“Really? That’s excellent!” Thancred beamed, “Where have you seen them?”

“Ah, ah, ah!” they giggled, “We will be happy to tell you, but first, you must play with us!”

Thancred sighed, “Swimming and rolling down hills, was it?”

“Perhaps…But I have an even more fun game in mind!”

“What would that be, pray tell?”

“You looked so funny describing your Elf friend, it would be fun to see you describe your friends of other races too!”

_“You have got to be kidding me…”_ Thancred sighed, _“Charades?”_

“Of course, if you don’t want to, we can just turn you into one of our leafmen and play with you later!” the pink fae said, their threat made even more terrifying by the sheer joy in their tone.

Thancred swallowed hard, looking at the hedge “statues” in the gardens. Now he saw why only the pure of heart would be welcomed here. If you objected to their childish games, you would face the whimsical chaos of their magic.

“No, no, I’m more than happy to play with you…” Thancred conceded.

“Wonderful!” the pink fae smiled, “Now start! Don’t be afraid to use your hands and feet too! That only makes it more fun!”

“As you wish,” Thancred begrudgingly agreed.

He began by lifting his hands to the crown of his head, holding them so they resembled a Miqo’te’s ears.

“I have another friend named Y’Shtola,” he described, trying to entertain the fae as best he could, “Her ears are fluffy and white like her hair, and she has a long, white tail.”

“Is it soft?” a fae in the crowd asked.

“I’ve never felt it myself,” Thancred played along, “But it looks very fluffy. She also has markings that look like a coerl’s whiskers.”

“Oh! I know this one!” an orange fae cheered, “She’s a Mystel!”

Mystel… that sounded close enough to Miqo’te.

“Yes…” Thancred agreed, “She’s a Mystel.”

“Tell us more!” another fae shouted.

Thancred moved his hands down, trying to think of another description that would entertain the fae. His mind went to the Au Ra, their image also rather easy to capture in charades. He pointed his index finger on both hands, placing them next to his ears to mimic horns.

“Another friend of mine is named Yugiri,” he said, “She also has a tail, but it’s not covered with fur. No, hers is clad in bone white scales.”

“It sounds smooth! Like a nice pebble,” a fae interjected.

“She has matching horns that jut out where her ears would normally be,” Thancred continued.

“How does she hear?” another asked.

“Through vibrations in her horns,” Thancred answered.

“She sounds like a Drahn!” the fae said confidently.

Drahn and Au Ra didn’t sound as similar as the other Source races did to their First counterparts, but if memory served, Au Ra were often mistaken for being related to dragons. Drahn at the very least sounded like “dragon,” and based on the description, it had to be them.

“Yes, that’s right!” Thancred congratulated.

“This is so much fun!” the pink fae squealed, spinning around joyfully.

Thancred hated to admit it, but he was rather enjoying himself as well. He had suffered so much lately, his trauma becoming too much for him to bear. But acting like a child again to appease these inquisitive fae… it at least took his mind off of more stressful matters.

“One more!” the pink fae urged, “Do one more! Then I’ll tell you where I last saw your friends.”

“Very well then,” Thancred chuckled, getting down on his knees to make himself look as short as possible.

“This last friend is named Tataru,” he explained, “And she’s about this tall, perhaps even shorter than that!”

“Does she wear a helmet and have a beard?” the pink fae asked.

Thancred lunged back, slightly shocked by their question. It was oddly… specific. Sure some Lalafells had beards, but it certainly wasn’t a common trait in _female_ ones.

“Well… no…” Thancred explained, “She’s also got pointed ears like an Elf, with a long torso and a button nose.”

“Does she like to shout ‘Lali-ho!’?” another asked.

“Lali… ho?” Thancred wondered.

“Hmm… perhaps she isn’t a Dwarf then… or if she is, she must be one of the stranger ones who shuns tradition…” the pink fae thought.

Thancred couldn’t be more confused. The fae seemed to be able to grasp Au Ra and Miqo’tes, or rather Drahns and Mystels, with ease, but when it came to his Lalafell companion, their questions couldn’t be further off the mark. Perhaps there was some sort of cultural distinction between Lalafells on their shards. Regardless, he figured he’d learn eventually.

“Thancred?” a familiar voice said from behind, “Is it truly thee?”

Thancred turned his head, his eyes widening at the sight. Standing before him was a familiar face, dressed in very unfamiliar attire. His normally loose silver hair was tied back into a small ponytail, and instead of the usual cloth robes and hood he so commonly wore, he was clad from head to toe in armor. The grimoire he normally kept at his hip was replaced with a broadsword, a shield slung over his back. At his side stood a young girl, clearly no more than twelve summers old. For the most part, her appearance was unfamiliar, but that platinum blonde hair and sapphire eyes were features Thancred could recognize anywhere. The sight of her almost brought a tear to his eye.

“Minfilia!” Thancred shouted.

He stood up from his knees, rushing over to hug the young girl. She stood still as a statue as he held her close, slightly unsure of what was going on. Yet even though she had never met this man before, he too felt familiar. The sensation was almost identical to when Urianger first rescued her, that feeling that this man was also one of the original Minfilia’s dear friends.

“Urianger,” she asked, “Is he… is he one of your allies?”

Thancred froze, his heart sinking in his chest. Minfilia didn’t remember him. In her credit, she was a mere child, and a reincarnation at that, but it still hurt. Nonetheless, Thancred refused to let it deter him. He had found Minfilia, and he would restore her memories and keep her safe, no matter the cost.

“Aye child,” Urianger explained, “This is Thancred. He, like mineself, is a Scion.”

“Well, it is a pleasure to meet you Thancred,” she said uneasily.

Even if he was an ally, Minfilia still found herself hesitant to trust anyone other than Urianger. Thancred soon noticed her discomfort, letting her go and watching her immediately hide behind the Elezen bashfully.

“I’m terribly sorry if I had frightened you,” Thancred apologized earnestly, “Such was not my intent.”

“It’s alright,” Minfilia assured.

“Oh darn it shieldman!” the pink fae pouted, “Couldn’t you have waited to come to Lyhe Mheg for just a few minutes longer?”

“Forgive me if I was interrupting thy japery, Tyr Beq,” Urianger replied, “But milady was hungry. I believed twould be wise to gather provisions for her dinner. As for thee, Thancred, I take it that thou art acquainted with the Pixies of Lyhe Mheg.”

Thancred shrugged off several of the pixies flitting over to him, “I suppose you could say that…”

“Tis a pleasant surprise to see thee again,” Urianger smiled, “But if thou art here, then such must mean…”

“I was called here.”

“By thyself?”

“No. Y’Shtola was called too.”

“Only the two of thee?”

“Sadly.”

“Then it appears we might find ourselves stranded in this world erelong… Thancred I assume that thou hast come to know the Crystal Exarch.”

“Vaguely, but yes, we have met.”

“How much information didst he impart upon thee, about the nature of this world, about how to defy its fate.”

“About the Calamity, the state of the world, the sin eaters… but as soon as he mentioned Minfilia, I felt compelled to come find her, and you by extension.”

“I see. Then there is much of which that thou remainest well unaware.”

“I’m sorry. He probably could have told me more, but the second I heard about Minfilia, the tunnel vision set in.”

“I blame thee not for wishing to see her again. Well aware am I of thy attachment.”

Minfilia stepped out from behind Urianger, another wave of nostalgia washing over her. She had seen visions of the original Minfilia many a time before; a divinely beautiful woman who shared her platinum blonde hair and sapphire eyes. She was a benign enigma, an ephemeral mystery, but according to what Urianger had told her, Minfilia was once just a normal girl like her.

A normal girl, with friends, family, and loved ones she gave her life for.

Urianger always told her he saw the original Minfilia as a dear friend, mayhap even a sister. She could sense it as well, but with Thancred, there was something even more familiar about him; a certain closeness that she had sensed from first sight. What was Thancred to the original Minfilia? A friend? A lover? No… it was closer than that.

“You…” she squeaked, “Was she family to you? The original Minfilia?”

Thancred’s hardened expression seemed to soften as his frown turned upward to a gentle smirk. He didn’t have the words to respond, but a simple nod of his head was enough to convey his feelings. So, he really was family to her.

“I had resolved I would never see her again,” he whispered, “I almost forgot this feeling… of joy… of hope.”

Urianger closed his eyes. This was the first time since the Scions had left for that ill-fated banquet that he had seen Thancred looking so content. Yet there was still a certain detail about Minfilia’s reincarnation, a thread of truth that would cause Thancred to unravel should he learn. It would be cruel of him to crush his newfound hope so soon. When the time was right, he would find out, but until then, it was best to let Thancred enjoy the moment, even if it wasn’t the whole truth.

Urianger shook his head, his gaze shifted from Thancred to Minfilia, then back to the faefolk. Having been in the First for two years, so much had changed since Urianger last saw his trusted ally. Considering Thancred now found himself in the same situation as he, having been called to the First with his body left on the Source, Urianger figured he was a bit more than curious to learn more: about how he fared in this dying world for the past two years, about his drastic job change, about Minfilia. Such details would be better divulged in private, and Urianger knew just the place for their discussion.

“Thancred,” Urianger said, “Wouldst thou care to know more? I have witnessed much during my years here, and I feel the wisdom I hath accrued wouldst be best imparted unto thee.”

“Any additional information would be helpful,” Thancred replied.

“I must entreat thee to aid me in a certain task,” Urianger explained, “For I hath promised Minfilia I wouldst make her supper. Twould be much appreciated if thou wouldst aid me in carrying provisions back to our cottage.”

“You have a cottage here? The Exarch told me you were on the run.”

“Aye, but fae whimsy hast done well to deter our pursuers, and the Pixies were hospitable enough to loan us an empty cottage for our haven.”

“A cottage would certainly be more convenient for keeping our conversation safe from eavesdropping. Very well. I don’t mind carrying provisions for you. Hells, if you need help cooking, I’ll do so too.”

“Thy offer is appreciated.”

Urianger extended his hand to Thancred. For the past two years, the only companionship he had enjoyed was Minfilia’s, with the occasional call from the Crystarium. It was refreshing to see an old familiar face, to have someone around his age to talk to, to spend time with. The press of his armored palm against the Hyur’s was comforting, as if assuring him their friendship hadn’t wavered in their time apart. Twelve knew his amity towards the Scions remained steadfast even during his many moons on the First.

“Pray accompany me,” Urianger insisted, “I shall make all clear.”


	6. A Taste of Home

Thancred lugged the sack of provisions back to the cabin, following close behind Urianger and Minfilia. The Pixie’s market was far different from anything he had seen on the Source, the wares they had purchased even more so. They had managed to snag a few grains, meats, and vegetables, but it seemed the Pixie farmers peddled primarily sweet berries, edible flowers, and pastries, far too decadent for Thancred’s taste. Still, he knew one could never be picky when on the run. He had survived off of hunting and gathering for months after being ejected from the lifestream. If anything, this situation was preferable.

As they proceeded through the lush lands of Il Mheg, Thancred spotted a small cottage in the distance. It seemed different from the architecture of Il Mheg. Unlike the fae houses, which were built directly into the land itself, this cottage was built atop the ground, raised from stone, steel, and wood. The windows were neatly set in wrought iron, and a tan, tiled roof covered the abode. It seemed to be a single story tall for the most part, but a tower jutted from the front of the house, perhaps serving as an attic or observatory. From the outside alone, this cottage would make a fine shelter. The three walked up to the mahogany wood door, Urianger pulling out a small, silver key to unlock it.

“Pray forgive that the inside is messy,” Urianger said, “Minfilia and I only recently took up residence here, and we normally expect not the company of others.”

Urianger turned the doorknob, showing Minfilia and Thancred inside. The inside of the cabin was spacious, its interior decorations minimal, but sufficient. As expected for someone as studious as Urianger, several bookshelves and a work desk were positioned against the wall, forming a cozy little study area. The kitchen was well stocked with everything needed to cook and store food properly, and a comfortable looking couch and loveseat were arranged ergonomically in the living room. A spiral staircase lead to the observatory, and near the sides of the room, two doors stood tall, no doubt leading to master and guest bedrooms. The three brought their provisions over to the kitchen, Urianger taking off his armored gloves and chestplate so he could better cook a meal for Minfilia.

“Prithee, make thyself comfortable,” Urianger said, moving to the sink to wash his hands, “Once I have prepared our meal, I shall tell thee what thou desirest.”

Minfilia nodded, immediately running over to one of the bookshelves. She looked along the wall of tomes, carefully selecting a new story to read before sitting down on the loveseat, devouring the text within. Thancred, however, stayed in the kitchen, watching as Urianger began preparing their meal. The Elezen retrieved a large pot from one of the storage cabinets, setting it atop the stove for later use. He rolled up his sleeves, pulling out the onions and garlic he had purchased in Il Mheg before peeling and chopping them finely.

“What are you making?” Thancred wondered.

“Merely a simple mutton stew,” Urianger replied, “Tis easy to cook and yields ample portions for left-overs.”

“Do you need any help?”

“Only if thou desirest to do so. I wouldst not impose work upon thee.”

“It’s fine. You’re treating me to a meal. This is the least I can do.”

“Verily. Then couldst thou peel and dice the popotoes and carrots? Two of each shouldst suffice.”

“That sounds easy enough.”

Before Thancred could even reach into their bag of groceries, his hand was caught by Urianger, the Elezen shaking his head in disappointment.

“Pray wash thy hands, Thancred,” Urianger sighed, “Twould be unsanitary otherwise, and I wish not to blight Minfilia with sickness.”

“Just where do you think my hands have been?” Thancred asked.

“No doubt holding tight to the hide of an amaro.”

Thancred looked down at his hands. The Amaro he rode in on didn’t exactly smell pleasant. Perhaps it would be wise for him to wash up before he began helping Urianger.

“Alright, fine…” he conceded.

Thancred walked over to the sink, washing his hands under the warm, running water and patting them dry with a towel. With Urianger’s approval, he began his work on the popotoes, taking a knife in hand to strip the rough skin from the soft, white interior. For someone who primarily fought with daggers, Thancred was surprised how difficult peeling popotoes could be. He needed to simply remove the outer layer without cutting off too much of the interior, but pay careful attention to his cuts. If the knife slipped, he could easily slice his thumb open, his blood soiling the cutting board. Nonetheless, he was able to overcome the task, setting the freshly peeled popotoe aside. The second one and the carrots seemed much easier, the benefit of practice coming to his aid.

No sooner had he finished peeling the vegetables did he see Urianger ignite a fire crystal on the stove, pouring a splash of olive oil into the pot and dumping in his finely diced onions and minced garlic. The vegetables met the metal of the pot with a sizzle, wisps of fragrant smoke kissing Urianger’s nose. The onions became translucent with every stir, soft, tender, and exuding their delectable scent. Thancred stopped chopping his vegetables for a moment, walking over to Urianger to peek over his shoulder. It had been a long while since the Scions had shared a meal together. Either they were all too busy to work out a time or Thancred never seemed to be in the right mood to socialize, even with his close friends. Yet helping Urianger in the kitchen, knowing he’d be sharing a meal with friends, even if it was only Urianger and Minfilia, gave him a pleasant sense of nostalgia.

“It smells good,” he said.

“Tis naught more than sweated onions and garlic,” Urianger replied, “Such is elementary, hardly worthy of praise for mine skill.”

“It doesn’t have to be complicated to smell good. I’m looking forward to trying the finished product.”

Before Urianger could say anything else, Thancred had returned to the cutting board, chopping up the rest of the vegetables for the dish. With the onions and garlic in the pot finally taking on his desired color, Urianger pulled a neatly wrapped parcel of mutton from the grocery bag, the meat within already cut into bite sized portions for stew by the fae butcher. He dumped the meat into the pot, letting it take on the flavor of the onions and garlic before seasoning it with salt and pepper. Urianger carefully flipped each piece, making sure they were perfectly browned on the outside, but not cooked all the way through. This meat was meant to braise, not fry after all.

With the meat and onions looking satisfactory, Urianger took the pot off of the heat, ensuring the meat wouldn’t overcook and onions wouldn’t burn, before removing several large, glass jars from the icebox. The contents within seemed almost gelatinized, and were a deep, rich brown in color.

“Homemade mutton stock?” Thancred asked.

“The fae oft throw the larger sheep bones away, saving only the small ones to make jewelry and trinkets,” Urianger informed, “Thus were they willing to pass what would otherwise be discarded unto me, and I didst thoroughly make use of it.”

Urianger returned the pot to the heat, scraping the contents of the jars out into it. The stock began to melt, slowly coming to a boil.

“Thancred,” Urianger said, “Wouldst thou please bring the carrots and popotoes?”

“Oh, sure,” Thancred responded.

Thancred handed off the chopped vegetables, watching Urianger dump them in the pot of boiling stock. Urianger turned the flame down to a simmer, stirring in bay leaves, tomato paste, various herbs and spices to bring out the flavor of the mutton. Once everything was seasoned properly, Urianger placed the lid on the pot, stepping out of the kitchen.

“The stew shouldst be ready in about an hour,” Urianger announced.

“Urianger, I’m a bit hungry right now,” Minfilia mumbled, “May I have a snack?”

Urianger pulled a fresh, juicy apple from their provisions, handing it off to Minfilia.

“Pray do not fill thyself up before dinner, milady,” Urianger cooed.

“Thank you, Urianger,” Minfilia beamed, taking a bite of the crisp fruit.

Urianger turned back to Thancred, urging him to come over to the living room.

“Mayhap twould be a good time to have our discussion,” Urianger said, “If thou art willing.”

“If we have an hour to kill, I don’t see why not,” Thancred replied.

The two made their way over to the couch, sitting down on the plush cushions. Minfilia seemed to pay the two no mind, remaining content on the loveseat with her book and apple.

“Should we be having this conversation in front of Minfilia?” Thancred worried.

“There is naught we are discussing that she remains unaware of,” Urianger assured, “And young as she may be, milady is quite level headed. Now, pray tell what thou dost know. Much wouldst I loathe reiterating wisdom that the Exarch hath already imparted unto thee.”

Thancred rubbed his chin in thought.

“The Exarch told me about the Calamity of Light,” Thancred explained, “How much of the shard was destroyed as a flood of light aspected aether decimated the land. How sin eaters ravage the surviving citizenry and the sky remains ever locked in oppressive light.”

“I’m certain thou dost recall the Warriors of Darkness who ventured to the Source, dost thou not?” Urianger asked.

“I was so confused as to why you were helping them at the time… but now it all makes sense. I can’t help but pity them…”

Urianger sighed. Though at the time, his actions were for the greater good of both the Source and the First, Urianger still felt guilty. He had to engage in subterfuge, acting as a double agent and deceiving his friends. It was something he swore he would never do again, yet still, he found himself having to hide the whole truth once more. His heart bled, but it was for the best.

“It was Minfilia who brought the Flood to a halt though,” Thancred said, “That’s what the Exarch told me. And since then, her reincarnations have been viewed as deities walking amongst men. From there I kind of tuned everything else out… as I’m certain you know why.”

“Then there is still much thou needst know about the First,” Urianger thought, “Pray, allow me to elucidate.”

“I’m happy to listen.”

“The Sin Eaters are not the only problem Minfilia and I face. Particularly powerful Eaters, known as the Lightwardens, hold each city-state in a death grip, their presence preventing the night sky from ‘ere returning. Why, one even resides here, in Il Mheg.”

“Really?”

“The King of the Fae, Titania, found themselves corrupted by light, ‘ere imprisoned in their castle lest they harmest their people.”

“Has anyone tried to fell them?”

“Many have, and all have failed. Tis as if these Lightwardens have the strength of Primals, yet even our gift wouldst not allow us safety. Thusly, it seems only the Warrior of Light wouldst stand a chance. Tis why the Exarch hath worked tirelessly to call them.”

“And we got caught up in it because we also have the Echo…”

“Indeed. Yet our travails end not there. For ever since I rescued Minfilia, we hath been pursued by a daunting force.”

“The forces of Eulmore, right?”

Urianger’s expression grew stern. Thancred had never seen Urianger looking so serious since their bout with the Warriors of Darkness. It was a look of conviction, but there was a small spark of rage hiding behind that cool visage.

“Nay,” Urianger informed, “We are pursued by a sole assailant.”

“Just one person?” Thancred wondered, “I’m surprised he’s giving you such a hard time.”

“Thou doth underestimate his strength. This man… Ran’Jit… is more akin to a beast. He couldst level a city by himself, escaping with nary a scratch. Alas, his might is not all that poses a problem. For he hath done something unforgivable to Minfilia, and that, I cannot abide.”

Thancred looked over to Minfilia, she seemed preoccupied with reading, but he could tell she was trying to tune this conversation on Ran’Jit out on purpose. Just what had he done to her to cause her so much trauma?

“Minfilia, child,” Urianger assured, “If this conversation makes thee uncomfortable, Thancred and I willst gladly discuss it elsewhere.”

“No, it’s fine,” she squeaked, “I have you to protect me. Ran’Jit… he can’t hurt me anymore.”

Even though she assured it was fine, Minfilia still looked shaken. Just the sound of his name made her uncomfortable. To ensure Minfilia wouldn’t be disturbed, Urianger leaned in close, whispering in Thancred’s ear.

“Ran’Jit hath physically and emotionally abused Minfilia,” he said softly, “In a cruel attempt to temper her soul with steel, he would regularly challenge her to ‘spars,’ oft times leaving her with broken bones. Why, the day I came to her rescue, the poor child had several broken ribs. Her objections were oft met on deaf ears, and the ruler of Eulmore even encouraged this treatment.”

Thancred looked over to Minfilia. He had no idea the poor girl had gone through so much.

“That’s horrible…” Thancred whispered back.

“She was not wont to converse with many other than mineself when I first rescued her,” Urianger explained, “Though she hath since opened up, I wish not for her to endure such trauma again. Minfilia deserves a chance at the childhood that was otherwise robbed from her, and I willst do anything I can to protect her.”

“So that’s why you chose to become a paladin.”

“Tis far easier to protect Minfilia with a shield than a grimoire.”

Now that they were in close proximity on the couch, Thancred finally got a better look at Urianger. His robes that he was so fond of wearing on the Source did him little favors to begin with, but Urianger seemed more muscular, his arms toned and larger than before. His skin had gotten a bit darker too, from his former ruddy complexion to a uniform tan, and his hair was longer as well. The new look suited him, but it was quite the drastic change from his prior appearance.

“Thancred, might there be something about mine visage that bothers thee?” Urianger asked.

“What?” Thancred asked.

“Thou didst stare. Might I have something upon mine face?”

“Oh, was I?”

Thancred didn’t mean to stare. He would loathe coming off as rude, especially to a dear friend.

“I was just thinking,” Thancred confessed, “The mantle of Paladin… you wear it well.”

Pink blush bloomed on Urianger’s cheeks, the Elezen slightly averting his gaze bashfully.

“Thank thee,” he replied.

A moment of silence between the two of them. Urianger was flattered by Thancred’s comment, but he was never the best at socializing. He had dearly missed his friends for the past two years. Night after night he dreamed of seeing them again, hale and hearty, but now that the day had come, he was slightly unsure of what to do.

“Thancred,” Urianger said, breaking the silence.

“Hm?” Thancred asked.

“I have a favor to ask of thee.”

“What is it?”

“Wouldst thou mind staying with us for a bit longer? I have long since missed the company of the Scions, and thy aid in guarding Minfilia wouldst be duly appreciated.”

Thancred looked over to Minfilia. She was absolutely in good care thanks to Urianger’s guidance, but a part of him desperately wanted to help. He had failed to protect her before, and now he finally had an opportunity to prove himself, to protect her and allow her to live her own life. It would be foolish for him to decline.

“Gladly,” Thancred insisted, “I would be honored to help you keep her safe.”

“It pleases me so to hear that,” Urianger smiled, “Thank thee, Thancred.”

For the latter part of the hour, the two caught up with each other, Urianger sharing details of his experience on the First and journey to become a Paladin worthy of protecting Minfilia, while Thancred explained what was happening to his body on the Source. Thancred was happy to talk to him again, to hear what he’d been doing and that he was doing well. Urianger found himself reluctant to cut off their conversation, especially since he was finding himself enjoying talking to Thancred, but it would be disastrous if their dinner burned. He stood up from the couch, walking back to the kitchen to check on the stew. The broth had thickened to a hearty consistency, and the popotoes were tender enough to eat.

“Milady,” Urianger called, “Supper is ready.”

Minfilia dog-eared the book she was reading, setting it aside and walking to the dinner table. She tossed the browning core of her apple in the trash, waiting patiently for Urianger to bring her dinner. Thancred joined her, watching as Urianger ladled the rich soup into three bowls, bringing them over to the table with three spoons.

“It looks good,” Minfilia beamed, “Thank you Urianger.”

“Tis very hot, milady,” Urianger cooed, “Pray, do not burn thyself when eating.”

Minfilia stirred her spoon around the bowl, trying to grab a piece of carrot, mutton, and popotoe all in one spoonful. She raised it to her mouth, blowing on it to cool it down before taking a bite. Once her lips locked around the spoon, a smile spread across her face.

“It’s delicious!” she cheered, “The mutton is so tender.”

“It pleases me that thou dost enjoy it,” Urianger replied, “And we shall have plenty for the morrow as well.”

Thancred took a spoonful of the stew as well, curious to see how it tasted. It looked and smelled delicious, the broth an inviting reddish brown and thick enough to coat the spoon. He slurped up the spoonful, the soup warming him from the inside out. It was rich and filling, but not too heavy, perfectly satisfying in spite of its simplicity. The mutton melted in his mouth, well flavored with the fresh herbs and seasonings. Even the vegetables were delicious, the popotoes pillowy soft and absorbing the broth well, while the carrots retained their sweetness even after being braised to peak tenderness.

“I’m impressed Urianger,” Thancred praised, “Well done.”

“Glad am I that it suits thy tastes,” Urianger said.

“I hope you don’t mind if I eat several bowls.”

“Nay, pray eat as much as thou desirest.”

The three continued enjoying their meals and each others company, laughing and chatting. Though the First’s Minfilia was just a reincarnation of his, she was a kind girl, and Thancred enjoyed talking with both her and Urianger. Gradually the three cleaned their bowls, Urianger taking them to the sink to wash the silverware and dishes. However, as Minfilia retreated to the guest room to read, Thancred found himself approaching Urianger.

“Do you need help washing dishes?” he asked.

“Nay, tis a simple enough task,” Urianger responded, “By the way, for sleeping arrangements tonight, thou mayest take the master bedroom.”

“Then where are you going to sleep?”

“I’m certain I couldst make do with the couch.”

Thancred looked over to the couch. For a midlander like himself, he could easily sleep on it comfortably, but Urianger was an Elezen, and a tall one at that. If he slept on it, it would surely mess up his back.

“I’m fine with taking the couch,” Thancred insisted, “You can stay in the master bedroom if it’s more comfortable.”

“Art thou certain?” Urianger asked.

“Absolutely. I’ll be fine sleeping on it.”

“If thou dost insist…”

As Urianger put the clean dishes away, Thancred’s gaze shifted to the bookshelves. Urianger may be a skilled Paladin now, but a part of Thancred was worried that he would be more of a hindrance to protecting Minfilia than an asset. He was a rogue, someone who was best suited to working alone; one who hid in the shadows, attacked quickly, and escaped before he could be injured. Such a role was ill suited to be a guardian. Yet seeing the wall of tomes gave him an idea.

“Urianger,” he said, “How difficult is it to learn how to heal?”

“I suppose such a question depends on the one you ask,” Urianger commented, “What compels thy curiosity?”

“I want to learn. Even with your shield, I’m sure you must get injured from time to time. Please, teach me what know about the arcane arts. I want to be able to protect the both of you.”

Urianger was surprised. He would never have expected Thancred to express interest in healing, especially with how sensitive he was to aether. Though his suggestion wasn’t unappreciated. Prior to his arrival, Urianger would often have to rely on potions or medicinal herbs, or run to the Crystarium to receive treatment from the chirugeons. If he had a healer at his side, he would be able to last longer in battle, no longer relying on fending and retreating alone.

“If tis what thou desirest,” Urianger started, “Then I shall teach thee what I know, but on one condition.”

“What is it?” Thancred asked, “I’ll do anything.”

“Minfilia favors the dagger in her pursuit of martial arts. Well aware am I that thou hast mastered combat with this weapon, and shouldst I train thee in the way of the Scholar, I will beseech thee to impart unto her thy wisdom of being a Rogue.”

“I’d be happy to help her. I’m not sure how good of a teacher I’ll be, but I will try my best.”

“It pleases me to hear that thou art willing.”

Urianger tidied up the rest of the kitchen, walking over to one of the bookshelves and plucking out a grimoire. He passed it off to Thancred, smiling at him gently.

“Thy training shall begin now,” Urianger said, “While we have not the faeries of Nym to guide us here, the faefolk of Il Mheg have likewise companions who hath helped Scholars of the First in their pursuit of healing mastery. This very tome chronicles said theory. Pray, read this from cover to cover by the time morning comes.”

Thancred’s eyes widened, “Are you kidding me? This has to be at least 200 pages!”

“I understand not why thou respondeth so. Tis light reading.”

“Maybe for _you…_ ”

Urianger chuckled, “I have faith in thee Thancred. If thou truly wishest to learn the arcane ways, then thou must master the art of reading swiftly and critically.”

Thancred sighed, “Gods, just what have I gotten myself into…”

“If I was able to learn how to bear a sword and shield, I have full confidence that thou too shalt surmount any new hurdles thou faceth when attempting to learn the art of magic.”

Thancred reluctantly conceded, taking the book from Urianger and beginning to read.

“Well then, I shall leave thee to thy studies,” Urianger chuckled, “Good night, Thancred.”

“Good night, Urianger…” Thancred grumbled.

Thancred walked over to the couch, his bed for the night, and made himself as comfortable as he could get. He was never opposed to reading for research purposes, but it still wasn’t exactly his favorite way to spend his free time. Still, if putting in the effort to read thoroughly would help him keep Minfilia safe, he would read every single book on the shelves to memorization. The strength of his resolve wouldn’t allow for anything less.

“This time…” he said to himself, “This time I’ll get it right.”


End file.
